Ornamental
by The Dancing Pony
Summary: St. Charlie’s Training Facility raised the finest slaves in the country. Each and every slave was raised with absolute care, and with any kind of task in mind. Buy one slave from this esteemed establishment and not only could he plow your fields, cook you
1. 3370

**Ornamental**

**By: The Dancing Pony**

**Chapter One: 3370**

St. Charlie's Training Facility raised the finest slaves in the country. Each and every slave was raised with absolute care, and with any kind of task in mind. Buy one slave from this esteemed establishment and not only could he plow your fields, cook your food, and even give you the best massage you ever had; he could serve some of your more... private needs. But hush! You're not supposed to know that!

Slaves in the compound were not abused... very much. A worn-down slave would not perform properly on the block, nor would he be satisfactory to his master. The highest priced slaves were unscarred, well-shaped, and competent.

Among the most expensive slaves were exotics. These were used as more of a decoration, and bought by wealthy individuals, or the children of wealthy individuals. Exotics were hauntingly beautiful, male or female. Eyes were slanted slightly upwards, and many had some charming characteristic that set them apart form others. Exotics beginning with the number seven were reptilian, exotics beginning with the number six were avian. The number three at the beginning always meant canine.

Exotics with exceptional features would fetch a high price as an ornamental slave. So each slave was taught accordingly. They could do any number of domestic chores - and were very adept at doing some of the outdoor chores that were more... exhibitory.

But ornamental slaves needed to be broken before the final, most important skill could be taught; otherwise they would fight tooth and nail. Exotics had this annoying habit of attaching themselves mentally and emotionally to the first living creature it experienced an 0rga5m for; even completely against its will, and some trainers had the unfortunate duty to put down several mistakes. Even more frustrating was an exotic's almost complete inability to 0rga5m unless something living was stimulating it.

Normally these restrictions on an exotic's psyche would guarantee that the living thing was human, or another exotic, nd that the attraction was strong enough in both of them to initiate the bonding. But under circumstances of St. Charlie's the exotics were certainly not willing.

Mechanical techniques had to be used, and after many years of perfecting the mental breaking of exotics, there was not one that could resist. And once his breathing had slowed and his eyes opened to find not one living creature near him; first there came confusion, then fear, then depression. The exotic then had to be left in the room for no less than twenty four hours, so there would be no accidental attachment to a trainer. Most people tended to leave the observatory room, for the desperate wails of the broken exotic were painful to listen to. Filled with shame, fear, and sadness, not many trainers had learned to harden their hearts to a broken exotic's keening.

After the initial twenty-four hour wait, the ornamental exotic began training in its main purpose: the sexual pleasure of its master. A very pleasant ramification of the forced 0rga5m, and subsequent inability to bond, was that the exotic became very eager to please, and very easy to manipulate. If only to receive one small word of praise, a broken exotic would starve itself. However, one had to be careful not to let one's slave to 0rga5m in one's presence.

Exotics served a wide arrange of f3ti5h3s and kinks, and that is why St. Charlie's ornamental slaves were so sought after, not to mention extremely hard to obtain. Only the richest and most influential individuals could even attend the showcase. It was a mark of power to have one.

.o.

.o.

.o.

A single fluorescent bulb cast its permeating unnatural light on the dingy cell. The walls and most everything else were stained yellow. What once had been sterile white ages ago now had a sickening tint to it. Stainless steel was now stained. Nameless shapes from nameless substances decorated the walls, floors, and even the ceiling.

Two cheap metal-framed beds with one-inch-thick mattresses and torn and filthy sheets were shoved against opposite corners of the room. One had a shivering mass of dementia huddled under the single sheet. The other occupant of the room... well. Let's just say that the young man was feeling very alone right then.

His name was Number 3370. Capture nearly a year ago and frequent, hearty doses of shock treatment erased his real name from his memory. Since then life had become one very long day. The lights never turned off, and when one went out it was replaced within the hour. Absolutely filthy windows allowed no light to shine through, and more often than not the rooms in St. Charlie's did not have windows.

During this very long day, 3370 would go to a room with weights, treadmills, and many other exercise machines. There, a beefy man would yell at him and make him do pointless movements with the machines. The beefy man - who 3370 was supposed to refer to as Trainer Keeloff - said it was to shape his body, but 3370 didn't believe him. Why would Trainer Keeloff want to shape his body?

In fact, 3370 didn't understand a lot of what he was made to do. He didn't know why he had to eat the same white, grainy, paste-like goo that Trainer Keeloff said had a lot of vitamins. How would eating such disgusting stuff be good for him? 3370 also didn't understand why only his tail got cleaned, when getting all the itchy dirt off of his arms and back and legs would feel really nice; but all the attention to his tail was pleasant. It shone, and was the only thing in the dirty room that was worth looking at. Trainer Keeloff threatened to wrap it up in bandages if 3370 did not stop putting his dirty hands on it.

Now the other lessons, 3370 did understand. He knew how to clean floors and how to wax them again; how to wash cloths and how to make sure delicate material did not get ruined; how to make up a bed neatly; how to cook with food he wasn't allowed to eat; how to chop wood and stack it properly. All those things were useful, if not particularly interesting to know.

Actually, 3370 did not really know why he was there. He had been at St. Charlie's for as long as he could remember. He did get food, even though it wasn't very good. He did get exercise, even though it was really strange. But step one toe out of line, and you got a punishment that didn't leave marks. According to Trainer Keeloff, slaves didn't need to be smart.

3370 couldn't always remember why he was punished. That happened sometimes after a punishment. However, Trainer Keeloff assured him - in no uncertain or kind terms - that he fully deserved it. Just thinking of it sent 3370 into shivers again. The way the men in white were so cold and emotionless when they strapped him down. They stuck those little suction-things on his head and chest. They put something padded in his mouth, and the last thing 3370 saw, before the world went white, black, purple, and a million other colors - some colors that didn't exist, some colors that hurt him, and some colors that made him feel strange. Some colors that made his insides sizzle, and some that made him full-out burn, and the burn spread to his toes and his back and his head - he always saw those emotionless eyes. Cold eyes always meant punishment. And when the pain was over-with, Trainer Keeloff was there, telling 3370 how bad he was, and how he should never, ever be so bad again. Then the world would burst into colors again; evil colors, but a few good colors. And something would snap in his mouth, and the world came back; and he was being un-strapped; and Trainer Keeloff was telling him that this would not have to happen if only 3370 would be good and always do what his master or his trainer told him to.

3370 had come from just such a punishment. His head hurt so much, and Trainer Keelof knew that his head would hurt for a long time, so Trainer Keeloff would show how he was such a good trainer by not taking 3370 to the exercise room for a couple more hours, and bringing him some medicine that would make the pain go away.

3370 was always such a mess after his punishments. His eyes wouldn't focus for a long time. He couldn't shut his mouth, so drool got over a lot of his things. He couldn't seem to talk, and his motor skills were horribly off. 3370 would be ashamed of himself - if he weren't in so much pain.

3370 lifted his arm and tried to focus on his limp hand in front of his face. The image wavered horribly, although he didn't know weather that was because his arm was moving or his vision was moving. He gently lowered his arm to rest on the bed - out of the puddle of drool. His skin tingled like it was on fire, like every inch of him was burning. Even lying on the bed was painful, and the trail of saliva down his chin was like lava slowly seeping across his flesh. He would wipe it away if he had the coordination to do so, and if he was sure that it would not just make the pain worse.

3370 always seemed to be getting punished. He always tried his best to please Trainer Keeloff, but Trainer Keeloff was never happy. He never went fast enough on the machines, he never ate enough of the slop, he never kept his hands off of his tail, and he never did any of his tasks correctly. Sometimes 3370 just wanted to curl up and scream with frustration! He wanted to shout at Trainer Keeloff, with his huge, muscled arms and tiny legs that 3370 was not the disproportioned freak in the room!

The quiet click of a door opening brought 3370 out of his fevered musings. Had he the strength to look over his shoulder, he would have seen Trainer Keeloff staring at his quivering back with an odd expression that made his eyes glaze over. He would have seen Trainer Keeloff shake himself out of his musings, grin secretively to himself, and raise a long needle to the level of his eyes. He would have seen Trainer Keeloff quickly and quietly stride over to the handsome young man, and bring the needle to a point on his neck. As it was, 3370 only felt a prick on his neck and a burning coldness down his back before the world went black.

.o.

.o.

.o.

Wheezing was the noise that awoke 3370. He was pulled from a world of blackness that had no pain or confused, feverish, insane thoughts, and brought back to the filthy room with the light that was always on. The noise behind him continued, and did not lessen in intensity.

3370 groggily lifted his hand to wipe his face. Everything was back in working order, and the only reminder of his punishment was a bone-deep ache throughout his whole body. 3370 flicked his perfectly groomed tail in annoyance. Why did he have to always find new ways to make Trainer Keeloff upset? He should know by now all the things that Trainer Keeloff didn't like. Unless he forgot them every time he was punished.

The wheezing faded and eventually sobs and choked cries started to emerge from the other side of the room. The cries were disturbing and when 3370 turned around, with no little difficulty, his jaw went slack with horror. 3369, his roommate and another wolf exotic, was flat on his back on the other bed. His brown eyes were wide and stared holes in the ceiling. One hand clenched at his throat, and the other pressed hard on his lower stomach. He seemed to be in such a state of agony, of depression, of anguish, that tears would not come. His sobs were less sobs and more a forced exhalation of air. As if he didn't quite know how to express his torture.

3369 didn't seem to be harmed, but there was something very wrong with how he clawed at his lower stomach. As well as the fact that he did not have one stitch of clothing on his person.

3370 heaved himself to his feet, and steadied at a half crouch when he lacked the strength to hold himself upright. Slowly, he let go of his bed and hobbled his way over to his best friend and roommate.

"Th... th-hhh," 3370 wheezed and choked on his own dry throat. He reached the bed and kneeled down, resting his arms on the mattress at 3369's shoulder. "3369," 3370 managed to whisper. 3369 remained oblivious, wrapped up in his agony; he continued to struggle against unseen restraints.

"3369," 3370 raised his voice and his buddy seemed to notice him. 3369's brown eyes widened and his thrashing stopped, even though whines and whimpers continued to force through his throat. His right hand loosened and patted around, seemingly searching for something. Finding 3370's hand, 3369 gripped it tightly and brought it back to his throat, where he continued to cling to it. 3370's presence seemed to calm 3369, and seeing his only friend is such a broken state hurt him so deeply it was worse than punishment.

3370 shakily lifted his free hand and set it gently on the other slave's forehead. He awkwardly shushed and petted his desperate friend back to normal breathing, and soon, with a sigh, 3369 drifted to sleep. Even in dreams, 3369 still clung to 3370's hand and wouldn't let go, and that sent a knife through 3370's soft heart. Eventually he, too, fell asleep with his head resting on 3369's shoulder, and his hand resting on his friend's white hair. He was still weak from his punishment, and the effort of walking around and leaning on the bed was too much. 3370 swiftly succumbed to slumber.

.o.

.o.

.o.

Keeloff was happy. Wait - that was an understatement. Keeloff was ecstatic. The wolf boy was finally old enough to start his training. It was worth the stupid lessons of chores, endless exercise, and constant attention to the dumb boy's tail. It was worth the years of waiting and anticipation to get the opportunity to train another slave. That was why trainers were willing to put up with all they did.

He had just finished breaking his other charge; a process which had proved to be very satisfying. Of course he left immediately after the boy came down. Those wails were _designed_ to depress any listener. After that Keeloff had two slaves drag 3369 to his room where 3370 had just undergone the first step into a week-long process.

The shock treatment was extremely helpful in training slaves. Most of the time the "punishments" were nothing of the sort; it just got the slaves paranoid of making a mistake, and it usually distorted their sense of time. 3370 probably thought that his best friend had been gone for only a few hours, rather than a week.

After the unusually strong shock treatment, 3370 was injected with a substance that kept him asleep for days. By now he should be weak and dehydrated; unable to resist when the real breaking would begin.

Keeloff motioned to the slaves wheeling the gurney to stop. Room 3300 was his room. Both slaves were given to him to train, and he devoted every waking moment to making sure that his slaves were the finest damn slaves ever brought up. Such a huge job required his full attention, and attending to more than two slaves was spreading his talents too thin. The slave to trainer ration was never higher than two to one.

Keeloff opened the door, only to find the boy he was searching for absent from his cot. No, he was at the other end of the room, upper half entangled with the recently broken exotic, nd his bottom half draped haphazardly on the floor. Curses! This could ruin all his work with 3369! If that little abomination managed to get 3369 to bond with him - unknowingly of course, the boy was too stupid for his own good - then that would be twelve years down the drain! Not to mention the extermination fees and the money lost training him, as well as no money from a sale!

It might not be too late, however. Keeloff jerked his thumb at the kneeling boy, who was more like a young adult, and the slaves tried to quietly extract 3370 from the other sleeping exotic. 3370 was sixteen, and his training in the art of 5exual pleasure would last several years before he was sold. Patrons liked their slaved young. Not as young as a child, even though there were underground circles that sold ornamental slaves as early as eight years old. However, that habit was looked down upon in higher circles, and it was a mark of ill taste to display an ornamental slave younger than eighteen.

The slaves quickly and quietly deposited the drained wolf exotic on the gurney and rolled him out the door. The next step would be to lull him into a false sense of security. Keeloff led the way down the main hall of the training facility.

The building was comprised of three wings, and a central gallery where slaves were displayed and sold. The east wing held the exotic slave barracks, the west wing held the human slave barracks, and the North wing was where the training actually occurred. Each wing consisted of one very large hallway with doors lining the sides at spaced intervals. The trainer's rooms were on the second floor, which was entirely devoted to trainer's comforts.

Keeloff waved off his assistant slaves as they entered the cross lobby. Taking the gurney nearest 3370's head, he slowed to a patient walk and gently tapped the exotic's face. The slave's eyes fluttered and opened, only to squint in pain as they met the fluorescent lights.

"Trainer... Keeloff... sir."

"Shhh, boy. You've been very sick and I'm taking you to a place to get you better," Keeloff soothed. His watery grey eyes seemed to radiate sympathy to the exhausted boy, and 3370 nodded his head tiredly.

"First, though, you are going to take a nice hot bath. Won't that be nice? It's my way of trying to make you feel better, you see. I feel just terrible that you got sick because of your punishment." His quite tenor voice washed over 3370 and he absently nodded again before closing his eyes.

Keeloff tapped his charge's face again as 3370 drifted to sleep. It was important that the exotic be mentally and physically drained for the procedure to work. 3370 must not regain any more strength if this was to be done correctly.

3370 protested weakly to the pestering, but was scolded by Keeloff. "Now, you can't fall asleep. Otherwise you might drown in the tub, and we wouldn't want that... and look, we're here already." Keeloff pushed the swinging doors to the bathing rooms open with the foot of the gurney. The steam from hot showers and baths filled the hallway, creating a sauna. The slave seemed to relax in the heat, and was visibly struggling not to slip into the slumber that his body so desperately craved. Keeloff was just plain bothered by the heat. He hated the sweaty, pungent room and tended to avoid going there as much as possible; reason number one that his slaves weren't bathed nearly as much as the other slaves were. However the bathing rooms served as a reward for good behavior, which was a luxury that other trainers had to strain for. There weren't many worthwhile rewards to be found in the compound.

The entire area was wood colored and the lighting was softer here than anywhere else in the building. There were open showers at the very end of a thirty-foot hallway, and private bathing rooms lining each side. The walls and doors were of dark, mellow wood, giving the room a golden glow. Plastic green plants were spaced evenly and added something fresh-looking to the musty atmosphere of the rooms. Murmurs of conversations and the occasional shout echoed loudly off of the walls.

At this time of day, there were few slaves or trainers in the baths. The majority of the slaves would be at lessons or weight training. The bathing rooms not only serviced the slaves, but also the trainers; who would, more often than not, bathe with their slaves. It was useful to train slaves to equate cleanliness with pleasure.

Keeloff stopped the gurney outside of the third door on the left. A gold number five was fogged over, and a circular window above it was decorated with a plaid curtain. Keeloff tore 3370 away from the gurney, and 3370 groaned in pain, struggling to remain upright. Keeloff ended up half carrying his charge into the even darker room. On one end there was a rather large tub, lined with pressure-treated wood. On the other side was a white marble sink that held a number of sweet-smelling soaps. To the left of the door there was a table backed against the wall. It was at waist height to serve as a bench. To the right was a brazier that held electrically heated coils of metal.

Keeloff kicked off his trainers and slid them next to the door, depositing 3370 onto the bench before he shut the door to the private bathing room. He left 3370 to fall asleep again while he filled the tub with hot water, laced with therapeutic scents. All this was the drugging process of the slave. Saturate their senses with perfumes, gentle massages, white noise, and dim lighting. Then, when they least expected it, and when they could not fight against it, _snap!_

The best part was watching them struggle. The way they tried to push away from the machine that pumped and massaged their genitals. Keeloff especially liked it when they called out for him to save them. Then, when they realized that that was exactly what he intended, their mournful and panicked wails of betrayal. The confliction was evident in their faces. The stimulation always felt so good - because every trainer got curious at one point, and put themselves under the machine - but to their instincts it felt so wrong.

Keeloff jerked himself out of his devious recollections when the tub was filled with bubbly water. Before he returned to the dark-haired slave he poured water onto the burning coils, filling the room even more with muggy humidity. Turning to 3370, he clicked his tongue in annoyance at the sleeping boy.

Gathering him up, he stripped 3370 of the sexless uniform of the slave - a knee-length waist wrap and a nondescript, sleeveless shirt - and deposited him in the long bathtub. He secured the boy's head in the headrest so he wouldn't drown, and set about rubbing down his body with a soft washcloth. 3370 sighed with contentment and a small smile crept onto his face. Keeloff grinned evilly as the towel brushed over the boy's penis and he jerked uncomfortably.

After the bath - in which even the lithe boy's hair was washed to a silky shine - Keeloff dried off the docile exotic nd laid him face-down on the bench, the towel lightly wrapped around his waist. 3370 would get about an hour of sleep now because Keeloff would enjoy giving his charge a massage just as much as 3370 would enjoy receiving it. It was just another way to heighten the breaking process. Keeloff's large, beefy hands kneaded every muscle in 3370's back, rubbing lightly scented oil, enriched with dopamine and tranquilizers, into his pale skin. Eventually, that skin would be bronzed by tanning booths, but that was never bothered with until he was close to being sold. There was no point in damaging the slave's skin while there was no one paying to enjoy it.

When 3370 was snoring lightly, Keeloff tentatively pried away the towel and glared lustfully at his naked bottom. The exotic's naturally well shaped muscles had been constantly toned by endless hours of exercise. What he was looking at was one of the finest, smoothest, firmest pieces of a55 he had ever seen. The full, brown tail began directly above the cleft of his cheeks and fell softly to the side, twitching occasionally to his dreams. Keeloff couldn't wait for training to begin, when he would get to do anything he w

anted with that a55, and teach 3370 to respond correctly.

Keeloff turned his charge onto his back and pulled him into a sitting position by his shoulders. The cobalt eyes wearily peered through long, thick lashes, unfocused and wandering aimlessly.

"Soft one, soft one, time to bring you to heal," Keeloff whispered in the slave's pointed ear. "I'll put you back on the gurney and bring you to a doctor where they'll fix you up with the best medicine." 3370's head bobbed up and down as he tried to force his weakened muscles to support him. After the intensive massage, he should be feeling like jelly. "They'll put you in a soft, warm bed and feed you special, sweet food. Food that is better than your normal food." When he was settled on the gurney, completely unaware of his unclothed state, he collapsed and sprawled along its narrow frame. "Until you're better, you won't have to do any more exercises, or go to lessons." He was utterly relaxed, and already feeling better - just exhausted.

Keeloff continued beguiling his slave. Soon, so soon now. He could almost hear the cries of ecstasy and despair. He rolled the gurney down the hallway and through a set of swinging doors leading from the showers directly to the room where 3370 would spend the next few days. The abrupt change in lighting stung both their eyes and the abrupt change in temperature made them shiver.

The hallway was completely bare and devoid of all color. It was pure white from top to bottom and the white light cast form the ceiling aided in creating a sterile atmosphere. He brought the exotic through another set of swinging doors and entered a small room, similar to a doctor's waiting area. Keeloff hurriedly bustled 3370 off the gurney, he was impatient; he needed that slave attached to that machine now.

3370 was dumped unceremoniously in a chair where he whimpered in pain. He sprawled in the chair, his legs were stretched out as far as they could go and spread wide, and his arms flopped on either side of him. His face was scrunched in pain and he tried to turn his face to hide from the bright lights.

Keeloff left him there and folded the gurney to rest on hooks on the wall. Knocking on a small pane of glass, he alerted the technician in the other room. She came through the door quickly, pushing a wheelchair in front of her and glaring peevishly at Keeloff. She never did like the man. He was a sick b45tard, and she had to yell at him for jerking off in the control room more than one time on the last slave he brought.

She turned her attention to the worn-down slave on the chair. He was a handsome specimen. Like all male exotics, he was large, and his testicles had promise to grow to a luscious size. The young blond technician carefully approached the boy, hiding her eagerness.

"Well hello my fine boy," she said soothingly. 3370 lifted his head to peer at her inquiringly. "My name is Trainer Melissa, and who might you be?" Melissa wrapped her arms around the exotic boy's wait and rested his head on her shoulder.

"Number 3370, ma'am." His reply was muffled into her shoulder and she smiled as she heaved him forward.

"Well hello Number 3370. Trainer Keeloff tells me that you're sick. Is that true?" Most of his weight rested in her arms even as he struggled to gain some footing. Try as he might, though, he could barely move.

"Yes'm." Melissa maneuvered him to the wheelchair and gently lowered him to rest comfortably.

"Can you tell me how you got sick, boy?" She made a few adjustments to his arms and legs before turning the chair to push it towards the door she had entered through. Keeloff jumped to hold the door open for her, and she sailed right past.

"Got punished... then... then got sick." His head fell forward slowly, his resistance visible.

"Now, now wake up. I can't make you better if you're asleep," she said, patting his face harshly enough to sting. 3370 was brought through yet another hallway. The only difference from the others was that this one was severely shortened. There was a pair of swinging doors at the very end and one door on either side. Melissa brought him through the swinging doors which opened automatically at her approach. "I know you're tired, but you must stay awake. Could you tell me why you were punished?"

"Mmm... Don't remember." He glanced around the room. In the center there was a long black chair on a raised platform. The chair was reclined and padded, yet had chain restraints hanging almost everywhere. Directly in front of the chair was a white cylindrical machine with lots of levers, slots, flashing buttons and panels. Mirrors faced each other from either side of the spacious, square room.

"Ahh, yes. I remember hearing from some other trainers that punishments sometimes wipe memories. Well, it probably doesn't matter anyway." She pushed the chair's feet rests aside, sliding 3370's feet from them and setting them on the cold floor. 3370 shivered wrapped his arms around his naked torso. "Tell me about Trainer Keeloff. Is he good to you?" This time 3370 was able to gain footing and helped Melissa walk him over to the black chair.

"He's good. He gave me a bath, and rubbed my back." When they reached the black chair 3370 winced before he sat down, expecting the vinyl surface to feel colder than the floor. He was pleasantly surprised to find a heated surface meet his skin.

"That's lovely dear. Now stay still, darling; I'm afraid I have to strap you in before I can start making you better." The restraints were leather, reinforced with steel chains that clanked loudly above the hum of the machine. She began with his wrists, wrapping the leather tight enough to hold, but loose enough to not impede his circulation. "There's nothing to be afraid of, dear," she said, noticing his apprehension. "This is going to be nothing like your punishments." She smiled warmly. "The restraints are so you don't move out of position. You could be hurt very badly if you moved so much as an inch, and this is a way of making sure there are no accidents."

3370 nodded and relaxed into the warm black material, still tense as a springboard at the clinking of the chains. Several things did not make sense to his muddled mind, but he just couldn't figure out what.

Straps went over any part of his body that could be moved by the muscles in his back or his legs. His legs were strapped down at his ankle, his shin, and two straps on his thighs. The chair bent slightly at the knees, and a strap cupped each of his kneecaps, firmly pressing them against the leg rests. One wide strap crossed his shoulders and two more straps above the elbow on each arm completely immobilized his upper body. A band of leather, the only one not reinforced with chains, was secured lightly across his forehead. The last restraint went across 3370's stomach. This restraint was hard leather that was much wider than the others. It not only kept his back, but his entire lower torso from leaving the seat. 3370 could not move an inch. The only things he could move were his fingers and his head from side to side.

"Whew! Those are heavy!" Melissa chuckled and wiped her lightly perspiring forehead with the back of her hand. 3370 glanced at her nervously, and begged with his eyes to be allowed to speak. He desperately wanted his fears to be settled because flashes of his friend were running through his head. He had a nagging feeling that the nervous energy that was running through him was disturbingly similar to what happened to 3369.

"Now, do you have any questions before I come back and we begin?" Her face was pleasant and expectant, and she gently stroked his chest as she waited for his answer.

"Um... what are you going... going to... to do?" Melissa's hand felt really good. No canine exotic could keep a clear head during a chest rub; just like other dogs, they melted.

"Oh, there's really nothing to worry about, dear. It's just a simple procedure. I do it all the time, and there's no way you can be hurt." She patted his chest in punctuation and turned to exit through the swinging doors.

.o.

.o.

.o.

Exiting the room and turning sharply to her left she banged open the white door. She had a few things to say to Keeloff before she would continue any further. The cretin would not walk all over her standards and debase her immaculate control room with his filth.

Keeloff was looking through the two-way mirror to the still exotic on the black chair. Most of his cloths had already been strews about the room, which was mainly used for relaxation and... recreation. Throughout the entire process, Keeloff would be living within the three rooms. The specimen would need to be monitored continuously to prevent damage. As technician of the breaking operations, Melissa oversaw everything that went on during the three-day period. Keeloff would be expected to share the burdens of continuous watch so Melissa could rest when she needed.

The room was simple enough. There was a bed, a small bathroom in the opposite corner of the entrance, and a speaker to call for food. It was painted in deep colors, to keep the room dark, and had a wide, luxurious couch facing the panel of glass.

"I just have a few things to say to you before I start." Her lip rose in a sneer at the sight of his naked lower half. She hated human men; their form was completely inferior to exotics. "I don't want you out of this room unless I call you to take over for the few hours of sleep I'll need. Last time you got your nasty jizz all over the control panel and nearly short-circuited my machine."

"Hey, Mill, that wasn't my fault -"

"Don't call me Mill, and there's no way it couldn't have been your fault. Jerk yourself off here before you even step into my computer room. Am I clear?"

"Crystal," Keeloff said wryly. He turned his attention back to the lightly struggling form of his boy in dismissal.

"One more thing,"

"Oh what now -"

"You might want to start putting together your slaves' handbooks. You wouldn't want to loose big money because a customer spent credits on a slave they have no idea how to control."

"Oh for Christ's sake Mill!"

"I said don't call me Mill, you stupid creature! I'm putting up with you because it's my job. I'll be the happiest I've ever been when this is over because it means I won't see you for another thirteen years!" Melissa stayed as far from the trainer as she could and clutched the stainless steel door handle in anger. "There's a computer next to the bed. You can access you account on the mainframe from there."

She opened the door and stepped out, pausing just outside the entrance. "And remember: Do not leave this room until I tell you to." With that she slammed the door and left Keeloff in the darkened room.

Outside, Melissa straightened her white lab coat and adjusted her glasses. That Keeloff was one of the most despicable trainers she had ever had the displeasure to deal with. She never ventured far from her white domain, and spent most of her time tending to the current exotic, or maintaining her machine. She knew everything about the machine. She should - her mother built it. When her mother retired, Melissa took over her position and even added a few touches to her masterpiece.

Her high heels tap-tap-taped loudly as she strode confidently back to 3370. He would be quite stressed by now, and it was important to soothe him back to complacence. As she pushed open the wide swinging door his whimpers and quiet yelps reached her ears. Schooling her face into concern and her voice to ooze warmth, she called to the boy.

"Why, soft boy, what's the matter?" She quickened her steps and immediately reached to pet him. 3370 flinched but calmed when he saw the person that was so nice to him before. "What's wrong? Is one of the straps too tight? Do you need to use a toilet?"

"N-no." He turned his head away in shame and tried to curl in on himself despite the chains.

"Then what is it? You know I'll try and fix it," Melissa crooned and continued to stroke the boy's hair and chest.

"It-it's just... I've got no cloths, and I'm strapped down, and... and," 3370 was quickly hyperventilating, and his struggles against the chains were increasing.

"Is that all?" Melissa gave a short laugh. "Why that's nothing to be worried about! Here, if it makes you feel better, I'll cover you with my coat," she said, slipping out of the long white vestment as she spoke. She flung the light material out and it settled over his body, hiding almost everything from view. 3370 immediately relaxed and smiled gratefully at Melissa. It was rare that someone was so concerned for his comfort, and it made him feel pleasantly cared for.

"Now here's what I'm going to do." Melissa faced her subject, who was much more awake than before, and adopted a business-like tone. "We need you to be completely relaxed. So I'm going to turn the chair on. It's going to move around and position you in the spot I need you to be in, okay?" 3370 nodded and felt more at ease, knowing what was coming ahead of time. "The chair will heat up more, but it won't get painful. Then there will be some pleasant vibration along the shoulders and back. It'll feel a lot like the massage Trainer Keeloff gave you a while ago."

3370 nodded again and relaxed his neck, unaware that he had been straining against the head restraint. He sighed and tried to calm his racing heart. "Here we go," Melissa said in warning and flipped the switch.

Immediately, the chair reclined even further. 3370 restrained a moan and a sigh of comfort from the pleasant feelings roaming along his back. Once it was reclined it began to rise, and the legs of the chair began to part and bend his legs at the knees, pushing his thighs closer to his chest.

3370 was feeling very exposed. No matter how much he liked Melissa, she was still where she shouldn't be, with him in a position he really didn't want to be in. As if sensing his fear, Melissa spoke out to comfort him. "Just relax, baby. This is perfectly normal." She tucked her coat firmly around him, trying to keep him relaxed.

The chair stopped moving once it was level with Melissa's neck from her position on the stool she had taken up while it was moving. The very large cylindrical machine was on a track and could be moved back and forth for easy access. Melissa moved it forward, tugging with some effort, to come to a stop directly between 3370's parted legs.

The machine had recently broken a female exotic, nd it was still set for one. From long practice Melissa quickly turned several reels and pulled down levers, entering complicated series of codes and making sure the internal programming was set to read male hormone levels and body functions.

When the last attachments and inserts were set, and 3370 was finally relaxed, Melissa's mind completely focused on the task at hand. There was something about it that always hypnotized her throughout the whole procedure.

Taking a tube of lubrication out of her pocket she emptied it into the machine. Seconds later, the anal insert seeped a pre-set amount. Positioning it at 3370's rectum, she halted and spoke again. "Okay, 3370. You're going to feel something cold. Now don't get nervous, you won't be hurt. I just want you to tell me when you feel something, okay?"

"Sure." Melissa detected uncertainty in his voice, but it 3370's mental state hardly mattered at this point. She gazed at the sight before her in appreciation a few moments before she began. 3370 was a magnificent creature. Her coat created a sort of tent and the position of the chair exposed his entire genital area to her eyes. His thighs were soft and pale, and his dark curls stood out starkly against his creamy skin. Melissa would love to have him as one of her slaves. Almost as much as she would love run her hands all over his masculinity.

She shook herself out of her musings. She had a job to do. Slowly, she extended the thick phallus to his tight ring and pushed. 3370 yelped. "T-trainer...! No! What - stop!" Melissa, however, was deaf to his pleas, as she was adept at blocking out an exotic's first sounds of begging. She pushed it in as far as the thing could safely go and returned her hearing to 3370's reactions. She pumped the phallus in and out, setting the machine at different heights to hit his insides at different angles. When 3370 gave a startled yelp and a barely cut-off moan of pleasure, Melissa locked the position.

Next, she took a small, double-cupped contraption and secured it around the specimen's testicles. This device would vibrate, massage, and bounce his balls, as well as radiate the fragile insides and make sure nothing burst, clogged, or got infected; allowing everything to stretch and accommodate more semen without damage.

The last stimulation that would be attached to the exotic was a long tube that completely engulfed his penis. From the base to the tip, all along the inside of the tube, his cock would be pumped, vibrated, swirled, suctioned, rubbed, and massaged. All the makings of a good bl0w-j0b.

Melissa double-checked everything, making sure that nothing was loose, and everything was well-lubricated. When she was satisfied she stood and returned her stool to the corner of the room. Passing 3370 on her way out the doors she grabbed her coat and returned it to her shoulders, 3370's cries of fear still falling on deaf ears.

"Please don't do this!"

.o.

.o.

.o.

Trainer Keeloff watched the image before him raptly, stroking his semi-erect member. The machine wasn't on yet, but monitors displayed the slave's crotch from eight different angles. Just the sight of the tensing muscles and the exotic's privates hooked up to the machine like some kind of experiment sent lustful shivers to his groin. He lightly squeezed his sac and moaned.

"Trainer Keeloff." The scratchy voice of Melissa sounded though the room. Obviously the intercom system wasn't as well taken care of as the other machines. "This is Technician Melissa, do you copy?"

Keeloff pressed a red button on his monitor pad. "Yeah, I copy."

"I am obligated to dictate to you, step by step, the procedure as it happens. Regardless of how many times you've seen it before." Her voice was monotonous, and it sounded as if she were reciting a speech she'd said thousands of times before.

"Yeah, okay. Start already." Keeloff pumped his shaft faster as the slave's encased cock rocked back and forth from the intensity of his struggles.

"Very well. I will begin."

.o.

.o.

.o.

There was a part of him that desperately hoped, even as he was being led to that..., that what he'd seen happen to 3369 wasn't real. How could anyone feel so... there weren't words to describe it. It was emotional pain so intense, he could hardly breathe. It was despair so strong, he wanted to leave life far, far behind.

He was never taught, but he knew. He knew as sure as he knew he had a tail, that what had happened a while ago was not natural. As he lay on his bed, holding down the filth the way 3369 did, trying to grab his heart and stop the pain, he knew there was no hope left. Something was missing. Something happened, he didn't know what they did to him, but it shattered something, dirtied something that was supposed to be precious.

Through everything - the endless day, the punishments, the long hours of exhausting and pointless exercise - he unconsciously held on to that one hope he never knew was there. The same hope that his roommate had stripped from him. That something would happen, he would share something... something with someone. And it would be all he would live for.

But there was nothing to live for now. The only thing left... a shallow hope of praise. A kind word to ease the suffering. For now Number 3370 understood the jibes, the degradation, and what he truly was.

He was a slave. Though he did not know the word yet, he knew what he was. He was something to be used again and again without thought or feeling. He was to be soiled and rotten. He was to obey, without question or dignity, and without worth.

**An:** If you didn't figure it out, 3370 is Koga and 3369 is Hakakku. licks lips Lovely little wolfies... How I would love to play with my very own 3370. Of course, he wouldn't have gone through such torture.

Since I share a computer with my little brother, I have to deal with a cyber sitter. Sometimes this means finding ways to make some bad' words appear. That is why some words are in "leet (1337)" or have symbols in them. I try to catch all of them, which will result in some bursts of frequent re-loading of chapters, but I do miss some. I would appreciate a notice if you do catch one.

Now, there's one very special thing I want you to do for me. Here it is:

**_REVIEW FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!_**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Inuyasha or any related characters.


	2. Inuyasha

**Ornamental**

**By: The Dancing Pony**

**Chapter Two: Inuyasha**

"You promised me."

Inuyasha abruptly dropped his fork on the table with a clatter and his hands flew to cradle his aching head. He did _not_ want this discussion now. Or ever, really.

"_Inuyasha_." Long, black, and slightly curling hair framed a heart-shaped face and pouting lips. Beautiful sunshine cast halos of light and rainbows on the white linen tablecloth and lit the woman's face at complimenting angles. Light blue eyes practically whined, so fiercely were they pleading. "You _promised_."

"I know I did, but I was drunk," was the weak reply from between clenched fingers. Inuyasha drew back his white, fluffy ears in annoyance and thread his fingers through his hair.

"But you still promised, and it's my _birthday_," Kagome continued to whine and abandoned her plate of eggs and honeydew melon to scooch her chair closer to the object of her wheedling.

"For God's sake, _why_ would you want to spend an entire day inside the mall, _then_ the center, on your birthday? I mean, look at outside! Wouldn't you rather be out riding...? Or maybe we could take a swim down at the lake. You know I built that wharf for you to sunbathe on," Inuyasha coaxed, pleadingly running the back of his hand down his girlfriend's cheek. The sun was shining, the sky was an amazing deep blue, the deep green trees were rustling peacefully, and the scent of fermenting wine was heavy on the breeze. It was a very nice day – one of the few – at _Montagne prés de la lac_ vineyard.

Kagome withdrew, an annoyed frown creating angry depressions in her forehead. "It's _my_ birthday. I can spend it the way I want, and you _promised_ to take me shopping to get a slave. Mummy and Daddy won't buy me one, and they won't help me keep one. So that means a trip to the store for leashes, food and cleaning stuff. Then we can go to St. Charlie's and pick out my new boy!" Kagome bounced eagerly in her chair, abruptly forgetting her earlier grief. Inuyasha sighed tiredly, and resigned himself to a wasted day. Bad enough that he had to entrust the day's paperwork to Myoga, he had go _shopping_. Not that shopping wasn't all well and good, on a rainy day, and when the item being looked for was something important.

"Wait – a _boy_? Kagome, I don't want you getting a boy. You'll get a female, or none at all."

"Why not?" Kagome put her hands on her hips and looked for all the world that what he had suggested was one of the silliest things she had ever heard.

"Kagome, you are not so naive that you don't know what personal slaves are for, and "

"Inuyasha, I will not have this argument with you." Kagome rose from her chair with an indignant huff, and started down the pale yellow hallway to the coat closet.

Inuyasha sighed and looked forlornly at his uneaten toast and sausage, but scooched back his chair over the carpeted floor of the dining room and rose to follow his woman to the door.

"Kagome," he warned, but a pair of shoes shoved in his face was his only reply. "Kagome," he tried again, but a swinging door and a blast of that enticing breeze was her only response. Inuyasha tugged on his polished shoes and grabbed his car keys from their hook by the door. "Kagome!" But she was already in the large white jeep and honking the horn to make him hurry up.

The loud noise shot a bolt of pain through his already twinging head and he heaved a martyred sigh as he headed for the driver's side. He climbed into the grey interior and remained stonily silent as he started the car and backed it down the graveled, tree-lined driveway. Casting one last longing glance at his lake with the merrily floating wharf and bobbing row-boat he turned left onto the route to take him to the highway.

Traveling sixty-six miles an hour, the expensive jeep was uncomfortably silent, with both of the passengers pretending that it wasn't so. Inuyasha – knowing that his maid would save the salvageable food, but irked that he had to abandon his breakfast on a whim not his own – kept his eyes firmly on the road and kept his driving maddeningly perfect, as he was wont to do when steamed. Kagome fiddled with her fur-lined purse and, giving a slight cough, reached over to turn on the radio. Sickeningly sweet pop music filtered through the car and Inuyasha's ears disappeared into his long white hair.

After two hours, a pit stop so Kagome could check her makeup without "bumping around like we're on a motorbike track," and another pit stop to fill the gas tank, the jeep pulled into the wide parking lot of St. Charlie's.

Inuyasha had been there many times before, mostly with his brother; his nine-year-old self tagging after the taller form of Sesshomaru, choosing the choicest office assistants. His father had usually gone to a less scandalous center to obtain workers for the vineyard, but they were eventually replaced with paid laborers when the business was passed over to Inuyasha. It had been a long while since he had been at St. Charlie's, and his contact with other slaves was few and far between.

"Why are we here? I wanted to go to the mall first," Kagome said with a deep frown forming once again on her pale brow.

"I'm trying to put off the worst part for last," he said wryly. "Besides, don't you want to know exactly what you have to get before you go shopping?" There was something to be said about procrastination, and Inuyasha was never one to offer acquiescence.

"But I wanted to meet Sango at four," Kagome persisted, keeping her door ajar in the hopes that they could dash to the mall more quickly.

"And Sango will still be there at six – assuming we'll be done by then, and I really hope we will be – so you can meet up with her and even go some place for dinner."

"Well, there will really be no point in shopping with her if she has two hours on me." The click of Kagome's heels resonated in the peculiarly silent lot. Apparently, there was a show today. Expensive cars were scattered among the others like the marshmallows in a bowl of lucky charms before a child got to it. Inuyasha sighed in relief. If there was a showcase, all St. Charlie's finest would be on display, and Kagome wouldn't have to go through the less desirable to get a good find. "The most I _may_ be able to do would be to buy my slave accessories, and even _that_ would be hard since I would have to find stuff that Sango hasn't already bought."

"I'm sure you'll manage," Inuyasha muttered under his breath, averting his eyes to the carpeted entryway. Valets could be seen taking cars and driving off, women and men dressed in their best walking elegantly through the gilded doors used for the sole purpose of a grand entryway.

St. Charlie's actual front doors were about a half a mile away, on the opposite side of the building, and looked more like a hospital setup than an American, Hollywood g1am0ur. The front doors were used for new "arrivals." Side doors were used for business and the everyday purchasing of working slaves.

After you entered the chrome-and-glass doors, a new slave would see a very tall desk, reaching well over three times his height. White dominated the very spacious room, and the acrid stench of cleaner filled the air, creating almost total sensory deprivation. The front doors were made to intimidate, cow, and downright terrify a new slave.

Inuyasha certainly had been. Dragging him out of the armored truck, Inuyasha was led through those imposing doors and brought before that awesome desk, staring at the sneering woman with the headset, tears quickly welling in his eyes. At some level, he had been bewildered. Why such precautions for a five-year-old? However, such things didn't matter much, as long as when the slave arrived, he knew who was boss.

They brought him to a small door at the bottom of the massive chrome structure, and Inuyasha had been fascinated by a shiny ball. It whirred softly and glowed a pretty gold. He reached out to touch it... and that's when his father burst in – dramatically, the man never _could_ make a normal entrance – and jerked him away from the whirring ball of gold.

Kosachi had been furious, and all business with St. Charlie's had been terminated from that point on. How they had gotten Inuyasha, and why his background was never checked, came up numerous times in the court hearings, but the case had to be dropped, least the wine business suffer.

That golden ball, Inuyasha would later find out, burnt the fingerprints of the new slave's hands. If they had managed to strip him of his identity, there would have been nothing Kosachi could have done. One could not get a job without fingerprints. Nor enroll in school, nor get a bank account, nor sign a contract, nor buy a car, nor obtain any sort of license. Had Inuyasha's identity been taken away from his fingers, Kosachi's only option would be to allow St. Charlie's to raise him as a slave. Then maybe, just _maybe_, Kosachi would be able to buy him back, or reserve him from day one (but that was more than he could afford)

"And collars, pink or green? No shoes because I just don't see the point in buying a slave shoes... Are you even _listening?_"

"Yeah... green shoes. Right?"

"_Ugh!_ Never mind!" Kagome stormed angrily ahead and smiled indulgently at the doorman. Inuyasha followed behind miserably. The doorman, identifying the trademark white hair of the Mitsishi family, bowed deeply and granted them entrance.

Inside the gilded doors was a hall of startling magnificence. Marble floors reflected huge chandeliers of gold, with actual red candles, surrounded in chains of crystal and diamonds. The red carpet extended to a large entryway where shallow members of the upper class were served small hours' devoirs, elegantly drank glasses of champagne, and generally socialized. A grand stairway with disused velvet rope on either side created an elegant ascent to the second floor where the slaves were displayed.

"Oh! Inuyasha! You didn't tell me there would be a showcase! Now I'm glad we came. I hope they haven't been going for too long," Kagome exclaimed, gazing at the stairway yearningly. "Let's go check out the merchandise."

Inuyasha's only response was to follow his girlfriend up the tapered stairway. A quick perusal of the lobby by Kagome's shrewd eyes revealed very few people worth talking to. To Kagome, now would be a perfect time to introduce herself to influential individuals. However, Kagome was quite overeager to get her first slave, and she reasoned to herself that there would be plenty of opportunities to climb the social ladder later.

The second landing was much like the first. A few individuals exited from doors leading exhausted-looking slaves on nondescript leashes. There were four doors, spaced at uneven intervals along the walls, which were lined with sofas, chairs, and plants of varying sizes. Unlike the lobby, the second landing was completely covered in plush red carpet. Everything was very posh, and shouted extravagant wealth and luxury.

"Welcome, Monsieur, Mademoiselle, to St. Charlie's annual exposition. May I direct you through the showcase?" A man with a pompous air stood rigidly at attention. Kagome, feeling more than ever like royalty, giggled and nodded, looping her arm through Inuyasha's. "Very well, suive moi."

"My name is Gaston, Mademoiselle," Their guide informed Kagome, rightly assuming that she would be choosing any slave purchased. He led them to the door on the far right. Inside was an array of human females, against the far back wall, women presented cuisine, desserts, breads, and other delicacies for sampling. In the center, slaves folded and unfolded linens with practiced ease. On each of the remaining walls, maids wore very tight, skimpy outfits, revealing long, shapely legs clad in fishnet stockings. Inuyasha's eyes glazed over. He wondered if any of the chefs had cooked Ramen.

"As you can see, human females are on display. We have our best chefs of the year along the back wall, and if you are looking for a maid, we have several who—"

"Well, I was looking for a personal slave. My parents already have house-workers." Kagome tightened her arm, warning Inuyasha to stay out of her decision.

"Ah, then Mademoiselle would be wanting to view the _'lady in waiting'_ selection, or would an exotic suit Mademoiselle's taste?" Gaston's voice became smooth and persuasive. Inuyasha glared at Kagome, but she remained stubbornly unaware.

"The exotics please," she said, smiling politely. Gaston nodded and sent a sympathetic look to Inuyasha who glared heatedly back. Gaston led them out of the human women chamber and across the landing to the closed door in the far corner. Kagome waited patiently as he produced a key and unlocked the glossy, wooden door. Moments after stepping inside, Kagome's strong scent of arousal hit Inuyasha's sensitive nose. He growled low in his throat and jerked strongly on Kagome's arm.

"It is your birthday, so I will let you browse as much as you want, but don't think for _one_ minute that I am buying one of these," Inuyasha whispered fiercely. Kagome's brows furrowed and her eyes grew watery.

"You are right Inuyasha. It's _my_ birthday, which means that my usual birthday earnings would cover a slave of my choosing. I will buy what slave I want, and if you won't pay for him, then you can pay for all the accessories." Kagome stubbornly glared, managing to look down her nose while looking up four inches.

"Kagome," he growled.

"We'll talk about this later. Gaston is waiting," she hissed, for indeed he was. With a barely imperceptible shrug to Inuyasha, he led Kagome through the weaving isles. Male exotics posed, flexed, or stood looking somewhat drugged. They stood in twos, with a trainer between the two whispering directions.

There were only about ten other customers perusing the stock, only three of them male, bar Inuyasha. Inuyasha thought his face was a rather unhealthy red. Many..., _many_, of the exotics were unclothed. Inuyasha tried desperately not to look anywhere below eye-level. Gaston seemed unaffected, thought he probably would be. _Maybe he's a eunuch._ Inuyasha thought cruelly.

The first slave presented to Kagome was a startling Macaw exotic. Even Inuyasha was suitably impressed with his plumage, and was even able to compose himself long enough to admire the bold coloring. Kagome, however, was uninterested.

"I don't want my slave flashier than me," she proclaimed, and followed Gaston to the next. An innocent seal exotic blinked at Inuyasha, straightening with poise to show off his legs. Inuyasha stared determinedly at the ceiling. Kagome, charmed by the coquettish behavior stepped closer to examine the slave. Inuyasha counted the light fixtures, hummed a song, and ran over a proposal scheduled for tomorrow; anything to block out the moans and Kagome's giggles.

"You're analysis, Mademoiselle?" Gaston inquired.

"I like him," she said, continuing to check out, one slender finger stroking her chin. "But I'm looking for something... a little bolder maybe? What do you think Inuyasha?" Inuyasha heard a muffled snort, and Gaston's breathing got very careful.

"I think... that I want to go wait in the car," Inuyasha said very slowly, as if talking to a rather dim child.

"Don't be ridiculous. I need your card to pay for my new slave." "Bu—" "Now, if your still sore about it, I'll pay you back, but I don't have my card with me. You'll just have to deal," She turned to Gaston as he led the way down the isles and Inuyasha followed, pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off a headache.

The slave presented to Kagome, Gaston said, was raised by one of the very best trainers they had. He was a wolf exotic, with long black hair held in a ponytail, and glossy tail hanging down to his knees. He was alone on the stand; the other exotic was probably sold earlier. His bronze, oiled skin glistened from the huge chandeliers above. He had been dressed in a furred g-string, and rather accentuated his ample jewels. Kagome squealed.

Inuyasha did not see what she was happy about. His blue eyes seemed unfocused, his movements stiff and clumsy. His face looked flushed, and his breathing was slightly heavier than it should be. Kagome ran her hands along his heavily muscled legs, humming in pleasure. Unlike the seal, he remained stoic and silent, his eyes focused on the air in front of him.

Inuyasha bit back a snarl of outrage as Kagome grabbed the exotic, with both hands, but he could not satisfy his rage by simply glaring. "Kagome! Quit feeling him up and get on with it!" Kagome simply ignored him, but did move on.

At his shout, the slave glanced at Inuyasha, somewhat confused. Inuyasha met his eyes... and liked what he saw. Intelligence, persistence, maybe even an actual personality. The slave winced as Kagome prodded his stomach, shifting awkwardly, returning his gaze to the air. She grabbed his face, frowning.

"He's feverish," she said shortly. She went behind him and forced him to bend over. Inuyasha looked away, almost feeling the humiliation radiating off the slave. "His rear end is nice, but it looks irritated." She stood up and walked back to Gaston, her hands on her hips. "Show me one in good health. I won't buy a slave I have to take care of before I even get to enjoy him," she snapped. Gaston nodded.

"Oui, Mademoiselle. Right this way." He gestured for her to advance, and possibly choose a slave that caught her interest. Inuyasha watched her go and shook his head slightly. This was getting out of hand. Already they had spent an hour at the exhibition, and he just wanted to get home. Giving one last glance at the exotic with the cobalt eyes, he followed the guide.

The next slave had the longest hair Inuyasha had ever seen, and that was saying something, considering his brother had hair that was longer than most girls'. The long black braid pooled at his manicured feet. It was apparent that he was unlike many of the exotics in the room. The trainer, eager to sell his slave, said he was an elemental exotic. Lightning. Kagome's eyes lit up. She exclaimed over his long hair, his dark eyes, his "beautiful" hands, and his delicately pale, unclothed body.

Inuyasha looked away in disgust. How could she? Was he not her boyfriend? _What does she think she's accomplishing here? Is this to teach me some kind of twisted lesson? Does she just want out?_ His eyes fell on the slave they had just left. Another prospective buyer was walking away hurriedly, shaking her head. He saw the slave's trainer zap the poor exotic in the thigh, a red welt quickly blossoming on his tanned skin. The slave's hard muscles tensed in pain, and sharp canines poked out to bite his bottom lip.

In the approaching months, Inuyasha would look back on this moment and wonder what had come over him. He explained it as an impulse, a lapse in judgment, a moment of temporary insanity. An action that was completely incongruous to his life, and yet he would also later admit that he would never change it.

Locating Gaston, he tapped the man on the shoulder, suddenly overcome with nerves. As Inuyasha had avoided comment throughout the entire tour, Gaston was somewhat surprised, though he hid it well. He turned politely to his client with a respectful, "Oui, Monsieur?" his grey mustache moving oddly with his lips.

"That slave earlier. The one with the tail...," he trailed off, beginning to think better of his decision. Another look to see those blue eyes brought the unwelcome sight of the slave, bound in rope. His hands were corded tightly behind his back, and the skin of his neck was indented by the tight collar the trainer had on him. "I wish to purchase the slave," he finished decisively. With one last violent push to the young man's muscled shoulder, they were through a door that Inuyasha had not noticed before.

Gaston coughed slightly into a fist, repeatedly clearing his throat to get any amusement under control. When he was positive that he was completely professional once again, he nodded once to his white-haired customer. "Very good; would Monsieur like to follow me? There is a selection of collars at each table"

"No," Inuyasha cut him off, glancing at Kagome warily. The lightning exotic was bent over in much the same fashion as the wolf. Kagome was running her hands intensely around his bottom, down his legs, and feeling his toes. He cleared his throat and continued. "No, the trainer has already left with the slave, and I won't be able to take him home myself." Inuyasha pulled his wallet from his back pocket and drew out his credit tag. "I need him delivered to my address along with a note. I need him there by eight, and I need this kept from the young lady I am here with. Can you do that?" Gaston nodded, lowering his voice so as not to attract Kagome's attention.

"That is all very simple, Monsieur. Is there anything else I can do?"

"Yes. Stick around. I'll probably be buying another soon," Inuyasha said grimly. Gaston's eyes widened in shock.

"_Deux_ exotic slaves, Monsieur?" This man was either insanely wealthy, or just insane. Inuyasha winced, pulling out a small slip of paper to pen a note to his butler.

"It's going to kill my account for a couple of months, I know, but Kagome is going to write me a check when she gets home." He finished, almost as if he were talking to himself. The absurdity of the situation eased slightly, and Gaston accepted the note and the credit tag. With a small bow he pocked them and both men returned their attention to Kagome, who was just stepping away from the lightning exotic. His face was flushed, and his jaw set firmly, as if trying desperately to keep a frown off his face. His braid was wrapped several times around his waist, the tail end hanging beside his long ©ock.

"Inuyasha? I want this one," she announced proudly as she clapped her hands together under her chin. Inuyasha nodded to Gaston, mouthing "Separate bills," when Kagome went over to inspect the array of collars.

.o.

.o.

.o.

With every step, pain seared from his belly, made all the worse from his slightly oxygen-deprived brain. It felt like a knife was twisting in his gut, just near his navel, and it flared through his lower regions. The large plastic plug deep inside his a55 never felt more unwelcome. His fingers were going numb, and small black spots were beginning to dance at the edges of his vision. 3370 tried very hard to concentrate on breathing, even though it felt like shrapnel flying down his throat to his lungs with every breath.

Another show, another failure, another excuse for Trainer Keeloff to punish him. Punishment had gained a terrifying edge since _the machine_. After that, 3370's punishments became sickening. In the dirty room, which 3370 now barely left, he was made to do unspeakable things. To Trainer Keeloff... to 3369, and 3369 participated unwillingly as well. 3370 could still remember when he had found 3369, in emotional torture on his bed. He could still remember the awesome feeling of comfort that was aroused just by stroking his soft white hair. He wished anything to go back to that. Now 3369 hated him just as much as 3370 hated Trainer Keeloff.

"Well, it looks like you've done it again. Do you know how much it costs _me_ to set you up like that?" Trainer Keeloff's hateful words floated around his pointed ears. "You're an embarrassment. You should have been sold the first time, along with your little whore." No. 3369 was not a whore. Trainer Keeloff was a monster, inspiring hat3, pain, and terror. "And you know what this means now. It's time for punishment," he said, and stopped.

3370 stumbled. He knew it was coming, but the fear overwhelmed him. _Not again! Please, not again!_ He begged silently. Tears filled his eyes, glazed with fever. It wasn't just shock anymore. The shocks were normal, 3370 would give anything to go back to just the painful colors. Now there was touching. Huge things being rammed in and out of his sore bottom. Shame in wanting a building feeling to finish, but something long and hard shoved up his ©ock preventing anything from happening. Utter humiliation of being bent over a pole, strapped down and beaten; trussed up like a pig, hanging in the air. _Then_ 3370 would be taken to the white room, the emotionless eyes, and the evil colors would explode like normal. But the agony began long before that.

"You know what you have to do," Keeloff said, sounding like a parent scolding an unruly child. With an overwhelming feeling of shame flooding through his body, 3370 nodded and knelt. Clearly reluctant, he moved closer, his face close to Trainer Keeloff's groin, his own pressing against his leg. "Please punish me... I deserve it. I need it... Please," 3370 choked out. He ground his face in that disgusting juncture of Trainer Keeloff's body, and humped his ©ock against his leg. _Every time..._

Keeloff grunted, and continued walking, pulling the leash around 3370's neck taught. The kneeling exotic struggled to regain his footing without the use of his hands, but the tension on the leash brought him crashing to the ground before he could get a leg in front of him. The slam of his body on the ground made him see stars, and he couldn't hold back a loud yelp, which was a moot point because no noise would come out of his damaged throat.

Keeloff turned at the sound of a thump. He was furious; his red face had a pulsing vein traveling across one temple. Sweat broke out on his furrowed forehead, and his fist clenched tightly around the leash. He turned, with every intention of dragging the impudent slave back to his room by his neck, and found him face to face with Jeremy Fallon; a slave dealer.

"F-Fallon! What do you want?" Keeloff quickly regained his composure, and turned to make a show of helping his slave up. He quickly loosened the collar, patting the young wolf exotic on the shoulder. 3370 was breathing shallowly, and Keeloff feigned concern while returning Fallon to his attention.

"Someone's purchased your slave," he replied evenly. "He's being delivered and must be on the truck in fifteen minutes. You have just enough time to gather his booklet, and accessories that come with him." Fallon was always a serious character. Hired only a year ago, he had all the seriousness of a trained professional who had not yet relaxed into the workplace. Keeloff nodded and turned to gently lead the exotic to his office, excitement surging through him.

"The boss was very pleased with such an unlikely sale," Fallon continued, filling up the silence between the two. "You'll be sent on the customary month-long vacation, and then four slaves will be assigned to you. Boss thinks you can handle it."

"Four?" Keeloff questioned gruffly. "A trainer is only supposed to have two at a time. It's been that way for years. We advertise that fact." He glanced at Fallon, annoyed at his presence, and quickened his pace. 3370 hobbled behind.

"Resources are being spread thin. Less people want to train slaves, and more want to do it themselves. New hires were down by ten percent this year, and all the surveys show that most young graduates enter arts or sciences in college, not behavior modification and suppression. Guess which sounds better?" Fallon had a slight edge to his voice. He himself had majored in business management, focusing on retail, never imagining it would land him a job as a dealer in one of the most lucrative businesses in the country.

Keeloff grunted noncommittally, turning down a hallway to the right. Three doors down, he opened his office door and left Fallon and the slave outside. The office was sparse, hardly used, and infrequently visited. Keeloff opened a shallow drawer and pulled out a booklet. It contained 3370's entire history, and personal data. Where he was picked up, his identity before capture, his stats at the time of capture, his parents, and a short genealogy. It also showed his sales history, which was short as there were only two other failed shows to report. Near the back, it displayed a list of domestic skills, and an analysis of potential to lean more complicated skills, as according to the observation of the trainer. A discrete, private note of the slave's s3xual prowess was stated on the last page.

Moving toward the exit, and shutting the light to the dusty room, Keeloff turned to face Fallon, who had his slave's leash in hand. Fallon held out his hand for the booklet, and Keeloff sputtered, "Now, what's the meaning of—" but was cut off.

"There is no need for you to escort him to the truck. Hand me the booklet, and you can begin planning your vacation." Keeloff, slightly annoyed at being denied one last time to torture the boy, roughly proffered the pamphlet. He watched as Fallon walked away beside the slave, one hand on the small of his back in preparation for any stumbling.

.o.

.o.

.o.

The man, who had introduced himself as Mr. Fallon, had been surprisingly gentle as he led 3370 to the black, armored truck. From what 3370 could gather of the conversation, he was going somewhere. Whether he was sold, or he was going through some type of new punishment, he didn't know.

Mr. Fallon led him to a large, concrete room. They were standing on a cement platform the rose about three feet above the ground. A black truck, with a ten-foot-long, cargo hold was backed against the platform, the floor of the truck level with the raised area. The room was not as large as the exercise room that 3370 remembered going to, but the ceiling went up at least fifty feet. Voices of others echoed off the smooth cement walls.

There were three wide doors on the wall facing the platform. They looked metal, and two were lifted, letting a breeze flow through the room. 3370 halted sharply when he felt the cool wind drift across his heated skin. It felt wonderful. A small niggling at the back of his mind told him that he had experienced that fluttery feeling before, but he couldn't remember. He closed his eyes and savored that amazing, gentle sensation.

When he opened his eyes, Mr. Fallon was looking at him fondly. Understanding briefly flitted across his face before the slack on the leash was tightened and 3370 walked forward again. He was led to the black truck closest to the door he entered through. The interior was painted black and a deep blue. Despite the darkness, the colors were comforting, and 3370 imagined that the cool colors were like that soft wind, caressing him all around. Two soft lights hung from the ceiling.

There were three others in the truck, and nine other seats were empty, lining each side of the truck. One looked highly uncomfortable, one looked to be in bliss, and the last one looked blank. 3370 had seen that look only once before, and it was the scariest thing he had ever seen. His eyes were soulless, empty pools with no personality. 3370 quickly looked away.

Mr. Fallon guided him to a seat next to the slave quietly humming in pleasure. A large black pha11us stuck up, angrily declaring just where it would go once 3370 sat down. The blue-eyed slave balked, turning his eyes fearfully to Mr. Fallon. _Should I ask? Mr. Fallon is not like Trainer Keeloff, but this still could be some kind of punishment._

Mr. Fallon looked enquiringly at the trembling slave, taking hold of his shoulder firmly, and frowning at the heat he felt there. "Is something the matter?" his soft voice asked.

Glancing nervously at the kind man, 3370 felt some apprehension drain away. _He did ask. Maybe it's okay to tell him._ He cleared his throat. "Um... T-Trainer Keeloff... um..." It was hard talking to a person. Trainer Keeloff did not like him speaking much. _Only for begging and singing around his ©ock, he said._ "He – I... I'm, uh, plugged. Um, can it, please, be removed before I have to, uh, sit down?" Mr. Fallon's mouth was hanging open, shocked, and his brown eyes were wide and unblinking. 3370 cringed, believing that he had, once again, read a person's intentions wrong, and he was not supposed to have asked. But the plug inside him was already so long! If he were to sit on that one as well, he would be speared through the gut!

Fallon, seeing the slave's fear, smoothed his features and smiled calmly at the cringing young man. "Of course. You should have asked earlier. Is that what has been paining you?" The exotic nodded, his fevered eyes looking in many places, but not Mr. Fallon. He gently pushed on the slave's shoulders speaking calmly the whole time. "Now just rest your hands on the seat, and I'll see what I can do." He stepped behind the slave, wincing at the angry red surrounding the fevered slave's hole. "I'll be as gentle as possible, alright? But it may sting a little." He located the small ball of plastic that rested against the ring of muscle and gripped it. 3370 whimpered, already in pain. "I'll count to three. Ready? One... two... three."

The ten-inch butt plug was yanked out of the abused a55, feces coating the entire length. 3370 yelped and cried, but held his ground and did not curl into himself, as Fallon expected. Deciding quickly, he discarded the soiled piece of plastic out the door, and reached for an overhead compartment where medical supplies were kept. Extracting a tub ointment, he unscrewed the cap and scooped a small amount onto his fingers. His slick digits slid over the red, irritated flesh, spreading the soothing balm along the inside of the mistreated slave's cheeks, around his anu5, and inside.

"There, that feels better doesn't it?" Mr. Fallon asked. 3370 nodded and tried not to moan at the soothing feeling. It had been so long since someone touched him with any caring. The slick substance filling his a55 was cooling, and the tingling overrode the sting from the removal of the butt plug.

After five minutes, Mr. Fallon took away his hand, replacing the cap on the ointment and returning it to the cabinet. He pulled 3370 up and gently backed him to the chair. 3370 tensed, but Mr. Fallon spoke calmingly again, and ran his hand over the slave's chest. "You shouldn't tense up; otherwise it will hurt very much. Just let your muscles relax, and I promise it will feel good." Mr. Fallon's hands on his chest felt nice, and 3370 was able to calm down.

He felt the blunt tip of the pha11us press against his opening, and forced his muscles to loosen. As the added pressure of his body pushed him further onto the intrusion, he felt the slick walls of the di1do push past, squidging through his cheeks pleasantly. When he touched the warmed seat, the pain below his navel returned full force, and 3370 whimpered. But then he could feel the presence inside him warming. The warmth spread like syrup through his body, and was accompanied by a soft vibrating. 3370's head fell back, his mouth open in a moan.

Fallon smiled, glad that he could ease the discomfort of another abused slave, if only for a little while. He did not know what the young man's new owner was like, and he supposed it was better that the slave knew abuse before, if he was to be abused later, instead of the harsh reality surprising on him. However, that didn't mean he couldn't make them feel cared for once in a while.

Fallon exited the truck, sticking the newly sold slave's information packet in a basket near the door of the truck. He had eight other slaves to collect before they could deliver the goods. He quickened his pace. He had deadlines to meet.

**AN:** So what do you think? My favorite part to write was when Koga first felt the breeze after years inside the building. Let's see... He's 23, and he was caught at eight... Fifteen years he was at that training facility. Now I have a favor to ask you:

**_REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW!_**

**Disclaimer:**I do not own Inuyasha or any related characters.


	3. Nice to Meet You

**Ornamental**

**By: The Dancing Pony**

**Chapter Three: Nice to Meet You**

The two slaves were paid for quickly, and Kagome thanked Gaston with much giggling and a profusion of flaunting. Inuyasha took it all in stride and kept his peace until they reached the car. The sun was well into the sky and the bright rays flashed on car hoods and windscreens. Kagome casually strolled next to Inuyasha, paging through her new slave's handbook. She had opted to leave the slave to be delivered, rather than drag a naked exotic through the mall, searching for fitting cloths. She hummed in anticipation upon reading a small section of print at the very back of the book.

"Would you stop that?" Inuyasha snapped. Kagome glanced at him quickly, but her attention remained on the booklet. He unlocked the car door and climbed in, glaring at Kagome intently. "Kagome!"

"What?" she snapped.

"Why are you _still_ ignoring me?" he yelled. Kagome sighed impatiently and very slowly tucked away the booklet in her purse.

"Inuyasha,_ I_ will stop ignoring you when _you_ stop acting like a child," she said slowly, as if she really were talking to a child.

"How am I acting like a child?" he snapped indignantly, buckling his seatbelt roughly and starting the ignition.

"You've been acting immature the entire trip! First you where whining about taking me out on my birthday, then about where we would go first – I gave in to you wanting to look for the slave first," Kagome said, while buckling her own seat belt – much more carefully – and flipping down the mirror to inspect her makeup.

"There was a damn good reason for me to be unhappy about it!" Inuyasha yelled, backing out of the parking space.

"_Then_ when we get there, you won't shut up about waiting in the car, and how you'd take back your promise to buy me anything I wanted!"

"I was in a room with naked _men! _Of course I was uncomfortable, and I did buy you what you wanted!"

"Only because I threatened you!" Kagome yelled, brandishing her lip gloss as if it accentuated her point.

"You didn't threaten me, you just kept whining and I got tired of it! Besides, you should have noticed the way _you_ were acting, do you know how embarrassed I was? When you asked to see the exotics I wanted to punch something!" Inuyasha kept his eyes firmly on the road as they came to a stop sign and pulled out onto the street.

"It's perfectly normal for a girl to have her own exotic to tend to her. Sango has three, and Ayume has one of her own. Even Erica got one before me, for Christ's sake!"

"So this is about you being a selfish brat because all your friends had a toy that you didn't?"

Suddenly, Kagome's hand snaked out and struck Inuyasha across the face. His jaw fell slack and Kagome, flushed with anger, continued to yell. "How _dare_ you? Don't you dare try to pin this on _me_, when you have been the one acting like a child! He's just a slave!"

Inuyasha was silent for a moment as he processed what had just happened. When he got over the shock of being slapped, he turned his narrowed eyes on the girl in the next seat. "You are dating _me_, correct?"

"At the moment, it's doubtful," Kagome spat out. Inuyasha's only reaction was to tighten his fingers on the steering wheel.

"What do you even _need_ a slave for? You're provided for by your parents, and when you stay with me you live in paradise," he said, ignoring the almost physical pain of Kagome's harsh words. Even though she annoyed him, he had strong feelings for her.

"Yeah, well there are just some things you're not willing to provide," she said sullenly. Inuyasha felt like the bottom fell out of the car. He felt like the windscreen had disappeared and the wind was tearing into his face at one hundred and forty miles an hour. He felt like he had just watched his house burn down.

"You," he began in a quiet, utterly disgusted voice, "have _no_ right to complain about that. You _know_ why it's impossible for me, and you _knew_ about that before we started dating!" His voice had risen to a heated fury, and he abruptly signaled to pull over to the side of the road. "It's not like I refuse just to inconvenience you. If you wanted sex you could have had a human, but you chose me and now you're _cheating_ on me with a slave?" He slammed on the brakes, put the Jeep in park, and turned to furiously glare at Kagome, who was nonchalantly filing her nails, only a faint crease in her forehead and a slight dip to her lips.

"It's not cheating! God damn, you don't make a fuss when I use my vibrator, do you?" she asked.

"_It's different!"_

"How? How is it different Inuyasha?"

"Because your vibrator is not a person!"

"Neither is the slave!"

There was a tense silence, broken only by the shrill whistling of the atmosphere as cars zoomed by. Inuyasha swallowed thickly around the sandpaper lump that had appeared in his throat. He abruptly turned forward again, and silently put the car into drive. He pulled back onto the street and drove, maddeningly perfect, onward. Kagome kept silent for the most part, thinking that she had won the argument, but constantly feeling like she had pulled out the cannons to swat at a mosquito.

When Inuyasha drove up to the mall entrance, rather than find a parking spot, Kagome's nerves increased tenfold. He stepped on the brakes and put the Jeep into park and tuned to her, his face set in a cold, angry mask.

"Get out," he said quietly, but so full of anger and disgust he might as well have shouted. Kagome, somewhat frightened, hastily unbuckled herself and opened the door.

"How am I going to get home?" she asked.

"Get a ride from Sango," Inuyasha said, turning forward once more.

"What about my car?"

"I'll go with Myoga to drop it off tomorrow." He turned to Kagome, only now some slight disappointment showing now in his golden orbs. "I'm sorry you feel the way you do, Kagome."

Kagome turned, shocked, angry, and depressed. She slammed the door and took off to find Sango, her angry tirade already taking shape in her mind.

.o.

.o.

.o.

When each seat in the truck was filled, Mr. Fallon checked over every slave once more and pulled down the sliding door. The inside was lit only by a soft orange light, and with the door down, it was only sufficient lighting to _just_ make out the face of the slave on either side, and the shape of the one across.

3370 had sat patiently while the others were loaded, but eventually tensed as more and more filled. St. Charlie's was the only home he could remember, and now he was being taken away, and introduced to a new master. What if his master was cruel? Would he be like Trainer Keeloff, or Mr. Fallon? On the rare occasion that a slave was returned, he or she would tell stories of horrible, disgusting, painful masters.

The truck was the darkest place any of the slaves had ever been, as every light in the training facility never turned off. Even the dim lights of the bathing room were never quenched. One slave, at the far corner, was hyperventilating – claustrophobia or a fear of the unfamiliar dark – and the female next to him was trying to calm the young man. 3370 recognized the voice as 2588's, a coy seal exotic that would always give him a friendly hug when they met in the exercise room.

Eventually, the soft murmurs of the female exotic and 2588's died down as one of them fell asleep, and filled the cabin with light snores. Every other exotic kept quiet and to themselves, and as the minutes wore on and on, 3370 started to become a bit bored. The novelty of being in a different setting with different lighting had worn off, and the movement of the truck had lulled a few other exotics into sleep.

3370 sighed and shifted in the chair. The intruding phallus, which was attached to the seat, made it impossible for him to slide down or slouch in any way. He was stuck with his back pressed firmly against the straight back of the seat, and there was very little room to move. The butt plug was also going very deep inside him, and, although it was warm and vibrating, the cramps had started to return.

3370 was sure that he was in this state because Trainer Keeloff had made him wear the butt plug constantly through four trips to the exercise room (four days). He had not been allowed to take it out, even to use the toilet, and as the cramps started Trainer Keeloff had taken the paddle with holes in it – 3370 _hated_ that paddle, and it wasn't his imagination that it hurt so much worse – and beat his rear to a beet red. His thighs and even his sides and stomach had not been spared, and with each swat to his torso, there had been a deep, sharply painful throb.

3370 shifted in his seat again, wincing at the memory that was brought by another twinge. He hoped his new master would have a medic to help him get better; the fever was making his head feel stuffed.

It was impossible to get comfortable. 3370, in growing exasperation, raised himself slightly from the phallus and dropped himself down again. Unexpectedly, he was met with a jolt of pleasure coursing straight to his cock and down to his fingers and toes. There were times, when Trainer Keeloff was feeling generous, that 3370 would feel like that. Usually it was after a bath, and Trainer Keeloff was giving him a massage with strong smelling oils. He would make 3370 lift his bum in the air, sometimes putting a pillow under his hips. Then the top-heavy trainer would slide a slippery finger into 3370's opening and touch a place inside that would send the most incredible sensations through the young slave's body.

With every stroke over that spot somewhere inside, 3370's prick would lengthen, thicken and harden. With every stroke, 3370 would feel the most incredible and frightening sensations. Soon, the shocks of pleasure were so good that 3370 _needed_ more! He would whine in the back of his throat, and buck his hips. He would grind his hard length into the pillow, or wood of the massage table, for the extra sensation. Trainer Keeloff would rub that spot for hours, sometimes abandoning it to extract his fingers and stimulate the ring of muscle of his puckered hole.

When Trainer Keeloff was done, 3370 was incoherent with need, shaking, flushed, and sweating. The long orange tube, solid for the last two inches, and a hollow through the last bit to let urine through, prevented that powerful, winding feeling from releasing. Senseless moans escaped his throat and drool dribbled down his chin to puddle on the teak wood slabs. Then, with a final, sharp slap to his bottom, 3370 was pulled up and made to walk back to his room, his large dick, an angry red, bobbing in front of him crudely. He would be hard for _hours_, and after the sensation died away, the slightest breeze or movement would send his cock upwards faster than he could blink. 3370 had come to view bath time with a mixture of dread and anticipation. Dread because there were no words to describe the desperate _need_, and anticipation because bath time was the only time when Trainer Keeloff was gentle.

3370 looked around guiltily, his breath flickering in rapid succession. He did not want to continue stimulating that spot inside because even though it felt _so _good, the wanting feeling it left was almost torture. So 3370 kept still despite his discomfort, and in a few minutes his dick stopped straining against the thin fabric covering his groin.

The minutes carried on, blending into one another, and the truck was slowly emptied of slaves. When Mr. Fallon would open the door, an exquisite breeze would waft through the cabin. 3370 particularly enjoyed that sensation, and absently hoped that his new master would let him be in a place to experience it over and over again.

.o.

.o.

.o.

It was nine o'clock when Inuyasha pulled into his graveled driveway and shut off the engine of the car. His cell phone had rung off the hook for thirty minutes after he had dropped Kagome off, and after it started playing the 1812 overture for the eleventh time, Inuyasha shut it off. He had spent a good few hours driving around after that, needing some time alone; then stopped at a coffee shop for some dinner and a relaxing atmosphere.

Today had been a disaster from start to finish, and now Inuyasha had to go inside and deal with a slave that he had never wanted. His mother had raised him to be a good person, and seeing someone being treated so harshly had not only drawn pity from his well-hidden soul, but it scared him. Scared him because he could have very well been in that position if his father had been only fifteen seconds later.

And that was another reason, added to the growing list of why Kagome should be ejected from his life. Kagome wanted sex, but for Inuyasha sex meant a life long commitment, even as a half-exotic his instincts were not watered down, and sex was something he was not ready for. Yet she persisted, and acted like it was some great insult to her person that she had to use a vibrator to satisfy her baser needs.

Sesshomaru warned him about getting involved with humans, but at the time Inuyasha was so smitten with Kagome she could have gotten him to do cartwheels during a board meeting. There was no guarantee that Kagome would hold the same feelings after a year or two, no guarantee of marriage, and no guarantee that she would not just up and leave after a little while. Then where would Inuyasha be? How long would it take for his instincts to let go of the woman they had attached themselves to?

Inuyasha didn't trust Kagome, plain and simple. Not with his secrets, not with his life, and not with his heart. That was no healthy relationship.

Sighing tiredly, Inuyasha climbed out of the jeep, slamming the door with little care. He climbed up the white steps to the double doors of the front of his house, pulling out the elastic that kept back his long hair. The tension on his scalp eased, and Inuyasha scratched behind his ears in bliss.

He stopped when the quiet crunching of gravel alerted him to another car coming up the driveway. He turned around, waiting for the light sensors to pick up the motion of another car in the driveway.

A large, black truck with St. Charlie's logo on the side of it entered the flood of white light, and Inuyasha's ears twitched in annoyance when he realized that his slave had only just arrived. He waited as the truck slowed to a stop, the brakes almost silent except for that small squeal that only exotics could hear, and a tired-looking man in a rumpled-looking suit dropped from the cab. His short-cropped, brown hair was sticking slightly on end, and he patted it down before heading over to Inuyasha with a clipboard.

"Mr. Shreice?" He asked with a slight French accent. Inuyasha nodded, stepped forward, and took the proffered clipboard to sign.

"You were supposed to drop the slave off at eight. If my day hadn't gone to hell, the slave arriving now would have been a disaster," Inuyasha scolded, scribbling his loopy signature quickly. He handed back the clipboard and the man took it, next offering another booklet similar to the one Kagome had been looking at when they left the center.

"I am terribly sorry, but we had several spots of trouble on the way, and three other customers wanted their slaves delivered at eight. We tried out best," he said tiredly, giving the impression that he had said the same thing several times before.

"Whatever, just get my slave out here, I want to go to bed soon," Inuyasha said waspishly, and the weary man nodded and turned around, an extra slump to his shoulders. After a few moments he exited and slowly led the slave with the cobalt eyes from the back of the truck, catching and righting the exotic when he stumbled on the steps.

The slave was still dressed in that furred g-string from the show, and traces of the shiny oil the trainer used to slick him up for the showcase was still evident on his shoulders and neck. Blue eyes scanned the area in wide fascination, and when a strong gust of wind blew through the yard, they closed in appreciation. The dealer held the leash to the slave's collar, and when they approached Inuyasha, he transferred the leash in a ritualistic 'ownership transfer' that some customers ate up.

"Mr. Shreice, may I present to you one of St. Charlie's finest for your satisfaction. He has been trained in a wide area of –"

"Stop," Inuyasha interrupted with a hint of pity for the man. "It's late. Finish up your deliveries and go home because I don't care to hear something that will just waste my time." The dealer looked at him gratefully and handed over the leather strap, turning on his heel and heading to the truck with a muffled "So long, and enjoy!"

Inuyasha watched as the dealer stowed the steps, shut the truck, and dashed to the passenger seat of the cab. He watched as the lights of the truck flashed, and the red break lights flared before dimming; then the black truck drove off into the night with a crunch and an almost imperceptible squeal.

Eventually, Inuyasha had to admit that he was stalling. He awkwardly turned to face his new slave, the headache that never quite went away rearing its ugly presence again, only to find that he was shivering slightly. Inuyasha shook his head in disgust and grabbed the slave by the elbow. The slave flinched violently then relaxed, but Inuyasha could tell that it was a forced gesture because the lines of tension in the exotic's neck and shoulders did not ease. He gazed warily into the grim-set face and hard eyes of the wolf exotic and released his tight grip on his arm.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up and into some cloths," he said gently, pity welling in his throat. He didn't want to pity the slave – knew from those eyes that the slave didn't want it, and would probably hate it – but how could someone not? How many times had this slave known actual kindness?

The exotic slave nodded and started forward at Inuyasha's gentler prodding. As they walked up the wide stone steps to the front door she slave's eyes were drawn to the surrounding nature, and Inuyasha noted with pleasure that he seemed to long to be in the thick of the swaying trees and the mountains. Inuyasha smiled. Maybe he had found a hiking companion.

Myoga was at the door, holding it open with any shock masked behind a cool demeanor. He nodded to Inuyasha and stooped to take the muddied shoes when Inuyasha had toed them off.

"Would you like me to lay out your night cloths, Sir?" he asked.

"No, but thanks Myoga, I'll take care of it. But if you could find some cloths for him," –Inuyasha jerked his thumb at his new slave– "that would be great." Myoga nodded and turned through a door on the right and up a flight of stairs while Inuyasha and the new slave followed.

.o.

.o.

.o.

3370 could not remember a time when he was so comfortable and so relaxed. He was lying on a small twin-sized bed, clothed with light blue sheets and a thick, brown blanket. Most importantly, they were _clean_. The light scent of detergent still clung to the pillowcases and surrounded him in a cocoon of fresh purity. He was _clean_, dressed in _clean_ cloths – that actually covered him entirely! – in a _clean_ bed, in a _clean_ room, in a _clean_ house. He could moan from bliss. In fact, he did.

The altogether brief interaction with his new master last night was not very informative. After ascending the stairs, they had crossed a large, central room and Master Shreice had showed him the bathroom and where he was to sleep. Then he had retired to his own room, leaving 3370 permission for full use of the bathroom.

And what a bathroom it was! White and blues and greens – nothing like the musty, steamy, sweaty browns and golds from the bathing rooms back at the center. Upon entering there was a knee-high, padded, vinyl bench five feet wide and was in the left corner against the two walls. The rest of the space between the bench and the far wall was taken up by a toilet. To the right was a huge, square tub in the far corner, and a long shower stall with a shallow basin next to it. A sink and medicine cabinet with a mirror was up against the right wall, and a linen closet shared a wall with the door.

And 3370 could spend as much time as he wanted in there; with no one touching him or looking at him and no Trainer Keeloff to give him a torturous "massage" afterwards. 3370 felt like a little boy for whom Christmas had come early.

The first thing he did was search the medicine cabinet and the linen closet for an enema bag. There was an awful time at the center when Trainer Keeloff had discovered 3370's allergic reaction to laxatives, and ended up teaching 3370 how to give himself and others enemas. 3370 actually thought it was rather pleasant – when he was allowed to do it. Trainer Keeloff was always too rough, and his enemas always made 3370's insides cramp up.

3370 ended up giving himself four rounds of two-quart bags, thoroughly flushing himself of the waste that had been plugged up for four days. The first two rounds, he could not take even half the bag before he felt the urgent need to evacuate. On the third bag, his breath started to quicken and his toes curled in pleasure as the soapy water flooded him. Then he filled himself up again with clear water, moaning in pleasure as the soothing heat traveled through his body, and clenching around the nozzle in his ass. Holding the enema, he submerged himself in the huge tub of steaming, frothy water; his stomach stretched pleasantly tight, and he enjoyed a long, fragrant bath.

3370 was a little worried that he would still get punished for taking such liberties. Trainer Keeloff had often given 3370 permission to do something, only to later say that the permission hadn't included such-and-such an action. Would he be punished like before? Would his master play the mind games that Trainer Keeloff was so fond of?

Before 3370 could get truly worried, the door to his small room opened. A short, squat, balding man, dressed in the uniform of a butler, stood in the doorway. His tiny tuft of a moustache twitched, and his eyebrows rose good-naturedly. 3370 recognized him as the man from last night who had greeted his master at the door.

"Well if it isn't the new slave, finally awakened to the world of the living," the short man's raspy voice intoned. "I thought you had drowned in the bathroom last night; you spent so much time in there." 3370 knew it. He was in trouble now, and already on a bad footing with one other slave in his master's house.

"Is my m-master angry?" 3370 asked anxiously, sitting up in his bed.

"Nah," the short man waved away 3370's concerns with a thick-fingered hand and reached to pull back 3370's blankets. "Master Inuyasha probably didn't even notice," the short man paused while helping 3370 out of bed, "In fact, he seems quite interested in speaking with you."

3370 nodded absently, relieved that, finally, he would be getting some ground rules from his master. Trainer Keeloff constantly reminded him that every master was different, so every master would have their own rules. Rules on how to address their master, rules on how to behave in their presence or in the presence of others, rules on how, what, when, where and whom to serve, and rules of conduct with other slaves were to be learned the first time they were told to him. 3370 would be happy if he could just learn all the rules and avoid punishment.

The short man had turned his back to 3370 and was rummaging in the small, wooden wardrobe – the only other piece of furniture that occupied 3370's room. "Come to think of it, I don't rightly know what Master Inuyasha is doing with a slave like you. Here you go," he said, turning around and handing 3370 the pile of clothes in his hands. 3370 took the clothes hesitantly, only setting them on his bed and beginning to undress after the short man snapped his fingers impatiently.

"I've been with the Shriece family since his father was a wee lad," he said, gesturing with his hands to indicate a very small boy. "Master Inuyasha's grandfather didn't like slaves too much; refused to let any near his children, see, so he hired me." 3370 frowned mildly upon hearing this. It was uncommon for a master to have hired help _and_ slaves. He took the blue, button-up shirt from the pile and slid his arms in.

"Master Kosachi was like his father, you know: proud man, very proud." The short man rocked back on his heels and stroked his stubby moustache. He didn't seem to care that 3370 was not speaking; only that he had an audience to talk to. "He kept his children away from slaves too; only used them as workers. That changed a few years after Master Inuyasha was born, though, and there hasn't been a slave on this vineyard in eighteen years."

3370 jerked and stumbled as his second leg was poised to enter the brown pants the short man had provided. He fell heavily back on the bed and stared at him in surprise.

"Surprising, isn't it!" The short man laughed heartily, patting his thick hand on 3370's shoulder. "Every one of his friends and associates are shocked to learn that he can get by and profit without about a hundred slaves running his vineyard, but he does it! Do you know why that is?" 3370, who had not yet resumed dressing, shook himself out of his daze and gazed inquiringly at the short man. "It's because the man's a business genius! True, he's not fond of the trade," he trailed off, and his light cough in the ensuing silence jolted 3370 back into a flurry of action. After tucking his blue shirt into the pants, he quickly slid on a dark leather belt. The short man didn't provide any shoes, and didn't seem to think that 3370 would need them; which was just as well because 3370 had never worn shoes before and didn't think he'd like them all that much.

"Right, all set then?" the butler grunted. 3370 nodded his head, tucking his hands behind his back and ducking his head. 3370 followed the short man, who seemed to have decided to narrate the house's entire history, back the path he had taken the night before. At the bottom of the stairs, he followed the butler down a wide, yellow hall to a sunny dining room. A wide window stretched across the wall behind the table and filled the room with late morning sunlight. Sitting at the table was his new master, quietly reading the newspaper as he ignored the slices of fruit on his plate, spearing a sausage on his fork.

Inuyasha looked up when Myoga and the new slave entered, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from an article about riots in France.

"Thanks Myoga, you can go," he said. Myoga bowed and left without a word, leaving a bewildered wolf exotic behind. Inuyasha studied him for a moment. The slave's bright cobalt eyes were downcast, glaring at his shoes; his hands were tucked behind his back, and, through a subservient gesture, he was bent forward in a bow. Like a true trained slave, he did not rise; only with Inuyasha's voice would he be commanded. "Please sit," he said, gesturing to the chair across from him. The slave's muscled body unwound from its tense, submissive stance, only to wind itself again into a stiff statue, barely seated on his chair.

"Master Shriece," the slave whispered in acknowledgement.

"I've called you down to get to know you a little. I want to tell you right now that I'm a pretty lenient person, and intend to treat you exactly like my employees. Unless you prove yourself to be trustworthy, you'll have just about as much freedom as the next guy." The young exotic made no movement to indicate that he heard or even understood. Inuyasha sighed and folded his newspaper neatly with the most interesting story on top.

"Please relax. Short of attacking someone, there isn't anything you can do that will make me angry enough to punish you," Inuyasha felt his attempts at reassuring the slave were in vain, but after a moment, his new slave nodded.

"Yes, Master Shriece," he said, respectfully.

"I'd prefer it if you didn't call me Master at all, but you can do what makes you comfortable," he grumbled, looking down at his uneaten melon.

"Yes, Master Shriece."

Inuyasha held back a sigh and shook his head to dispel the mild annoyance that arose. "Okay, so tell me about yourself. What's your name, where did you come from?"

The slave, still avoiding eye contact began speaking in a soft voice. "My name is Number 3370. I am from the 3000 exotic slave line. There is no task I am unwilling to –"

Inuyasha cut him off, "There's no need for that." He drummed his fingers on the white linen of the table cloth and considered his knuckles. "I don't want you to be afraid of getting hurt here. I won't ever punish you physically, okay?" When his reassurances received little response he continued, "Okay… Here's what I'm thinking. I'm going to have you shadow some people to take a look at the different jobs to do around here. Tonight, and for most nights after, we are going to take care of some business, and maybe shed some of that timidity between us, okay?"

"Yes, Master Shriece."

Inuyasha puzzled this new addition to his household. His limited experience with slaves made him question this one's behavior. He had to admit as well that he was rather disappointed. There were no signs of the spirit he had seen. Of course, there were a few occasions where he misjudged someone's personality…. Maybe it was a trick of the light, or the slave was sick. Whatever the reason, Inuyasha cleared his throat and gave it up as a lost job. With a flick of his wrists, he went back to his newspaper.

Not too long later, Inuyasha heard footsteps along the hallway, but they were too hurried to be his maid. Myoga, looking panicked came tumbling though the door.

"The west vineyard is on fire!"

**An: **Yeah. I know it's been a long time. You wanna fight about it! No, seriously, I write as the mood takes me. Deal.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Inuyasha or any related characters.


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